


Let's get you home

by ElenyasBlood



Series: Chubby Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bullying, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Trauma, M/M, Teenage!Sam, Weechesters, chubby verse, chubby!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2495783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenyasBlood/pseuds/ElenyasBlood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long before Sam's body started to grow, his shape sprouting into unknown heights and eventually turning scrawny; long before bulky shoulders and hard muscles, before strong legs and even before gangly limbs and shaggy bangs, Sam was chubby. </p>
<p>And all those people who won't stop giving him shit about will sooner or later have to face the wrath of his big brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's get you home

Long before Sam's body started to grow, his shape sprouting into unknown heights and eventually turning scrawny, long before bulky shoulders and hard muscles, before strong legs and even before gangly limbs and shaggy bangs, Sam was chubby.

Only ten years old, his body all but changing almost every day, he sported a pudgy tummy and chubby cheeks. His arms were a little wobbly, as were his legs, and he became out of breath quite quickly. Dad used to taunt him because he couldn't keep up with Dean when they played soccer in the backyard and though Sam never said a word, Dean knew it must hurt a lot.

“You're never gonna be a hunter like Dean when you keep gaining weight, Sam.” Dad said now and then, snatching the last spoons of pie or a half-eaten candy bar he'd gotten from the nice lady next door from Sam's grip and dumping it in the trash. “There's no place for chubby kids in our world.”

And it would drive Dean mad, his hands curling into tight fists underneath the table. He liked his Sammy exactly the way he was: soft and round, tender around the edges. A little ball of warmth and smooth skin, the soft swell of his belly fitting perfect into Dean's hollowed stomach. He liked the way Sam felt under his touch when they coiled up beneath the covers at night, his little fingers entangled with Dean's hair and his chubby body laying flush against his big brother's. He was perfect, his little Sammy, and every time Dad sneered at him it sent Dean's blood boiling and his guts twisting in anger.

But it was nothing compared to the day when Sam didn't come home after school like he should have. Dean had spent the day sorting ammo and cleaning the guns Dad had left behind when he went after a witch a few towns away, and later that day when he stood and waited next to the bus stop, Sam didn't step out of the school bus. His dimpled face didn't poke out of the window, his little feet didn't tumble down the steps and even the next bus was Sammy-less, too.

A wave of nausea washed over Dean and without giving it a second thought he started to run. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, leading him towards the school, and not even the sharp pangs in his chest, striking him to the very core with every deep inhale, could stop his run. A voice screamed inside his head, calling out for his little brother to be okay and Dean felt he might throw up at any time.

He almost missed the bundle of shaggy brown hair away from the road, hidden behind a line of neatly trimmed bushes. Curled into himself, face embedded in the crook of his arms and knees pressed against his chest, Sam sat in the dirt, his backpack discarded on the dirty ground and his ratty jeans spattered with dark stains of mud.

“Sam,” Dean cried out, slithering across the concrete as he came to a halt. “Sam what are you doing?” His voice was agitated, his chest heaving with the effort to keep breathing, and there was a panic pooling in his belly that drowned out every common sense. He was next to his little brother and on his knees within a matter of seconds and his hands seemed to work on their own as they started to check the tiny bundle for possible injuries.

“Sam? Sam talk to me, what happened? Why weren't you on the bus? Sam? Sammy, please.” Dean chattered on and tried to get a better view of his little brother's face, his hands searching for wounds or bruises as best as they could with Sam still clinging to his own knees for dear life.

“'S nothing,” replied a rough voice after another string of pleas out of Dean's mouth, and the teenager almost jumped at the sound of his brother's gruff words.

“What do you mean _nothing_?” Dean asked incredulously and now tried to pry Sam's arms from his face in earnest, his fingers clasping around the boy's wrists and pulling, a stern look on his face. “Please Sam, look at me and tell me what happened.”

And finally - _fucking finally_ \- Sam lifted his head from where it was pressed into the dusty sleeve of his hoodie, showing a swollen face with puffy, red-rimmed eyes and cheeks stained with tear tracks. “'S nothing De, really,” he lied and rubbed his fist across his nose in an attempt to remove the snot sticking to it.

Dean almost lost his shit when he saw the wetness glistening on his brother's cheeks and he was ready to run riot any second, his body vibrating with rage as Sam's did with grief.

“What happened?” he snarled out and for a moment he feared his teeth would grumble to dust under the force he pressed his jaw together. But no such thing happened and Sam shrugged instead.

“Nothing Dean, I just... I didn't feel... well...” the little boy tried again, blinking a new wave of tears away and swallowing around the lump in his throat. “'M okay, not hurt.”

Dean exhaled slowly. “No lies, Sammy, you promised,” he warned and double-checked his little brother for possible injuries before he dropped his body next to Sam's in the dust. “You can tell me what happened, 'm not gonna tell Dad.”

“Promise?” Sam slurred and his voice was still tight, his chubby cheeks smeared with dirt and tears and sweat.

Dean nodded and nudged the boy's shoulder gently. “Your secret's safe with me, little brother,” he promised and felt his blood boiling at the wet sob that wretched out of Sam's little chest. There was a beat of silence, nothing but the sound of birds and cars speeding down the road in the air, and Dean felt his guts clenching as he tried to steel himself for what was going to come.

“Dylan said I was a fat little piggy,” Sam eventually blurted out and another wash of quiet tears trickled down his cheeks.

“What?”

“H-he said 'm nothing but a fat little pig and you're gonna butcher me soon.”

There was a low growl forming in the back Dean's throat and he was about to scramble to his feet. He wanted to find that fucking asshole of a kid, wanted to find him and strangle him and punch him in the guts until he spat blood for making Sam cry. But the helpless little noise that spilled past Sam's lips as he continued glued Dean to his spot on the hard ground.

“He p-pushed me and pulled my h-hair and it hurt. I tried to punch him, bu-huh-t he kept on saying I-I'm fat and my body is made out o-of jelly. He and Carrie and Marc s-said I'm so fat I can't even pick up my lunch anymore.” And with the last sentence Sam broke down, his little body shuddering under the force of the sobs that climbed out of his chest, tears streaming freely down his face. His hands were balled into tiny fists and when Dean slung an arm around his shaking brother, Sam leaned into the touch like he was starved for it.

“T-they said I'd be good for n-nothing but being made i-into ham and that no-one wants a fat pig as a friend,” Sam continued and every word struck Dean like someone beat him with bare fists. Wordlessly he pulled his brother in his lap, his arms cradling the tiny, hard ball of grief, holding him close to his chest and keeping him safe.

And Sam just cried, open-mouthed and like the tiny kid he still was. Face buried in his big brother's sweater, hands clutching the slowly soaking fabric, he released all the pent up tension, shoulders moving and his mourning only interrupted by tiny hiccups.

“Shhhh, it's okay,” Dean mumbled. “Let it out, Sammy, I got ya. You're safe with me, shhhh.” And with his jaw clenched and a fire raging in the pit of his stomach Dean kept rocking back and forth, the weight of his little brother safely tucked against his chest. “It's alright, Sammy. Shhhh, you're fine,” he said, over and over again, until the heart-wrenching sobs finally descended and the shivers stopped rolling against Sam's body.

“B-but they're right, De,” Sam mumbled against Dean's chest. His throat was sore from crying and his face felt hot, but he was safe in his brother's arms and slowly the tension started to bleed out of him. “'m a fat pig.”

Dean couldn't hold back the snarl that forced out of his chest and with a sharp exhale he plucked his brother from his chest, holding him at arm-length so Sam could see the determined look on Dean's face. “Listen to me, Sammy,” he started, voice gruff and jaw still clenched. “You're not fat. You're no pig. You're... beautiful, my beautiful little brother, okay?”

Sam cocked his head.

“And you're so much better than those scumbags at school. Fuck them, Sammy. Fuck them and their stupid opinions. They know nothing about the world we live in and I don't give two shits about 'em. They can crawl in a hole and die for all I care. They're just trash. They're jealous because you're so damn clever and know the answer to every fucking question in the entire universe.”

“But De-”

“No Sam, no objections allowed. You're not fat. Don't ever let anyone tell you that. You're cute and soft and mine and... and I love you exactly the way you are.”

Sam blushed. “Really?” he peeped up and a shy, tentative smile spread across his face.

“Of course, Sammy. You're my little brother and I love you. I love your cheeks and your dimples,” Dean continued and poked his finger in the small hollow appearing on Sam's face. “I love all of you, with your short legs and terrible hair and ticklish feet and sticky fingers-- even the stupid little kisses you woke me with today. You're... you're beautiful and you'll always be safe with me, you hear me?”

Sam nodded, contemplating, and the dimples and his cheeks deepened with his smile. “I love you, too, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean cooed and for once the storm inside his chest stilled, his whole body going lax as he slumped into his brother's embrace and their bodies slotting together like two pieces of a whole.

They stayed like that, curled into one another, foreheads resting together, until dawn started to fall and an unpleasantly stiff breeze made them both shiver.

“You okay again?” Dean asked before he untangled himself from his brother's grip.

“Yes,” Sam nodded and slowly got to his feet. “I'm... it's okay. Thank you, Dean.” And with a small smile he slipped his hand into Dean's.

“Don't mention it, Sammy. Let's get you home.” Together they headed towards the motel, clothes spattered with dirt and fingers intertwined.

And when Dean waited for Dylan and his horrible companions the next day on their way home from school, beating their faces bloody and spitting onto their cringing bodies afterward, Sam didn't need to know. No, he didn't need to know.

**Author's Note:**

> **Chubby!Sam is so important. (▰˘◡˘▰) *:･ﾟ✧**


End file.
